


No Limit

by EllyAvon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Banter, Betting, Clint and Nat have a secret spy language, Crack, Disasters, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Jargon, M/M, Multi, Or at least as rogue as Steve can go, Poker, Polyamory, Singing, Steve Goes Rogue, Strip Poker, Swearing, Team Bonding, Teambuilding, Those aren't the rules for strip poker, Tony Queen of Rogersland, Wtf Steve, lots of swearing, monopoly, obviously tragic loss of shirts, risk, snuggle pile, team fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllyAvon/pseuds/EllyAvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't have a lot of regrets, but inventing Avengers Game Night is way up there. When Clint suggests No Limit Texas Hold 'Em, he takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ante Up

Avengers' game night is a fairly new tradition, one that Steve desperately regrets founding. It had been his idea-- movie nights were good (and he still had a lot of catching up to do with pop culture) but they didn't spark a lot of interaction or conversation. When Steve discovered that people still played Monopoly-- he thought it might be fun for the team to have a game night. The rules haven’t even changed, and the fake money looks the same.

It was a patently terrible idea.

The first Avengers' game night added up to seven painful hours of cutthroat competition involving side bets, bribery, alliances and the actual exchange of sexual favors (he honestly hoped never to see Bruce's eyebrow move like that ever again). Their dining room was trashed. There were Doritos, fake money, real money and abandoned faux pewter game pieces everywhere. And alcohol. Oh, the alcohol.

At around 3 in the morning,Tony had emerged victorious when Natasha rolled a 4 and landed on Marvin Gardens. Proclaiming himself the Master of Capitalism, General Fiscal Excellence, and All Thimbles Everywhere, Tony snagged him by his t-shirt and dragged him off for victory sex. Happy ending, but still, the process had been harrowing. Clint had needed _stitches_.

After that fiasco, Steve had attempted to put a stop to game nights-- he should have known in the first place that a scientist, a God, an assassin, a sniper, whatever Tony decided he was that particular day, and Captain America (when Steve loses, America loses-- Steve tries Very Hard not to lose) should not be competing. They're a team, Steve tries to explain when Clint unearths Risk and challenges them all to a round, they should work together.

It's a lost cause, though, with most of the team still sore from losing at Monopoly and Tony still high on his victory. Before he knows it they’re pouring drinks, hoarding snacks, and settling in at the table for several hours of vicious pretend war with tiny cubes. Steve’s never played Risk before, but he is a quick study and a Master tactician. To everyone’s credit, it is another tight game that lasts long into the night. Tony and Clint drink a little too much to be competitive, since they decide they’re going to take a shot every time someone rolls a six. Or whenever they feel like it.

Taking advantage of their intoxication, Bruce steamrolls Clint first and then Tony, only to get demolished entirely by Thor. Bruce attempts to threaten Thor just a little by advising that he wouldn’t like him when he’s angry, but Tony interrupts,

“Brucey, what the hell is that? ‘Let the Wookiee Win?!’ What kind of Star Wars nonsense are you pulling up there! Put up, shut up, or have a shot with us!”

Tony and Clint move their party to the floor, where Bruce accepts his fate and joins them (though he does not partake in the shots).

Hours later when Thor and Natasha are duking it out over a small portion of Europe, Clint begins singing _Sugar, We’re Going Down Swinging_ , which is weirdly appropriate but still kind of terrifying. It gets worse when Tony joins enthusiastically and Natasha adds a harmony part. Steve wonders if this is what it’s like to go insane when Bruce and Thor start humming along. Steve starts to worry he’s landed in some sort of musical otherworld, when Clint just passes out cold, effectively stopping the singalong.

Tony, bereft of his friend, appoints himself the Queen of North America and Australia (the land that Steve currently holds) a title that apparently earns him the right to sit at Steve’s feet and heckle everyone’s strategy from under the table.

Finally, Steve breaks Natasha’s iron grip on South America. Natasha swears magnificently in several languages and throws a knife no one knew she had.

It’s down to Steve and Thor. Rather, it’s _up_ to Steve and Thor, because the rest of the team is sprawled in a pile on the floor. They’re a weirdly snuggly bunch, especially at 0200 hours and with several drinks in them.

In the end it’s Steve, though, who manages to have the most success with the dice and claim the whole world. Tony, as Queen, renames it Rogersland in the name of Democracy, Truth Telling, and Sass.

Thor is a magnanimous loser, who cheers and wants Steve to try to lift Mjolnir again, since he has proven himself “A True Leader Most Worthy of Praise!” His booming voice startles Clint out of his unconsciousness and Natasha has to talk him down from the top of Tony's antique curio cabinet.

There’s slightly less maiming and potentially illegal sex this time, and also, he did win, so Steve is cautiously optimistic about game night. Maybe next time they can play something on teams, or you know, a game that can be over in less than six hours. Maybe one that doesn’t inspire wild competitiveness.

He’s simply not prepared for the disaster that is to come.

The next week, Clint disappears from the dinner table and comes back with six trays of plastic poker chips, a large white circle that says “DEALER,” and a pack of cards.

“No. Limit. Texas. Hold ‘Em.” He says very seriously, and drops the chips to the table with a loud _CLACK_. Steve has only had a few panic attacks in his life, and he's pretty sure this is how they all start. This cannot possibly be good.

“YES.” Says Tony, immediately, “YES! Shuffle up and deal! This is going to be awesome, I will _wipe the floor_ with you plebeians. I am the master of gambling, I am the king of Las Vegas... " He continues to ramble as he runs off somewhere, presumably to fetch some alcohol.

“What is this?" Thor asks, sweeping up a tray "Are these currency to which I have not been introduced?”

“They’re placeholders-- chips. They’re pretend currency for the game, Thor.” Bruce explains, claiming a tray as though this is no big deal. Steve makes a somewhat embarrassing squeaking noise in the back of his throat.

Natasha has already stacked her piles neatly in front of her and is shuffling two stacks with one hand while rolling a black chip across her knuckles in the other. "Are you all sure you want to play against me and Barton, here?" She raises one eyebrow in an impossibly elegant manner.

It's a challenge, not an actual argument not to play, but Steve jumps on board willingly. "Yes, Natasha is right, for sure. We should definitely not do this."

No one seems to hear him as Tony has returned with a huge bottle of scotch and a pair of sunglasses on his face and another pushed up in his hair. "Barton! What are you thinking for buy-in?" 

"That's how much your stack of chips is theoretically worth," Bruce explains to Thor as he helps him stack his chips according to color.

"Well," Clint says, "I figured we need to make it worth it, so buy in is $500,” Bruce, Thor and Natasha are already digging in their pockets for money. “Second place gets their money back, and the winner,” he says with a leer, “Gets to be leader of the Avengers for the week."

"What?!" Steve can't keep the hurt out of his voice. He gives everything to being a good leader of this team. Tony, who was so excited, looks about ready to feed Clint to the Roombas.

"Except on missions!" He amends, looking honestly contrite, "Shit, Cap, sorry. Cap is still Alpha on missions, obviously. Whoever wins gets to pick games, training runs, movies, dinners-- for the whole week. Non-Lethal Leader. Social Director!"

“I should hire us one of those,” Tony muses, claiming the spot next to Steve and his breakdown.

"It's okay, Clint,” Steve says, keeping the panic out of his voice somehow “but I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Aw, Steve, are you bad at poker?" Natasha teases, putting him on edge in about nine ways by doing a sleight of hand trick and pulling a chip out of his ear. His life is weird. She puts a thick stack of twenties on the table.

"I was in the _army."_ He protests. Tony throws out five crisp hundred dollar bills. Clint digs in his pockets and comes out with a crumpled paper that says IOU, then a large blank space, and the symbols for several types of currency. He scribbles in 500 and circles the dollar sign, then tosses the paper on the table.

"That's your answer for everything!" Clint points out, and demonstrates "Steve, are you cool with gay people?"

"I was in the army!" Tony calls out in tandem with Clint, before Steve can say exactly that.

Steve looks to Bruce for help with this madness, but the good doctor is busy writing out a check with the “TO” ledger blank. Thor unceremoniously upends a pouch of gold coins onto the table.

“Cap, are you sure you should use that kind of language?"

"I was in the army!" They chorus, with Thor doubling their volume. The man loves chanting.

"Wow, Steve, you sure don’t mind being naked for someone from the--" Clint starts again, but Steve waves his hands wildly.

He has to put a stop to this. To the chanting, to the game, maybe to Fridays in general, somehow. Maybe now wouldn't be a terrible time for Tony to go super villain, as he always threatens.

“Okay, no, I am fine at poker, I used to play in art school, with the USO ladies and, yes in the army with the Commandos. It’s just, come on, remember Monopoly? Remember Risk?” He’s not too proud to beg, not to prevent this level of destruction.

His team only stares back at him with vaguely fond expressions, as though to say, _Oh Cap, he’s so cute, trying to prevent the pure force of destruction that is us when we’re competitive._

It’s then that he realizes the wheels are already in motion. There’s no stopping this train. He can only get on and hope to contain the damage. 

He sighs largely, “Is a verbal IOU acceptable as a buy in?”

“From you, Captain America? Every day.”

A plan begins to form in Steve's head _._ Maybe this doesn't have to be so bad.

This time, Steve decides, he will be part of the problem, instead of the solution.

Tony snaps the seal on the cards and the disaster begins.


	2. Betting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony thinks he knows what he's up against. Sometimes, he's completely wrong.

Tony likes poker. Tony is good at poker. Tony is so good at most things cards, dice, and gambling. Mostly because he has a lot of money and doesn’t particularly care where it goes. If it takes him half a million dollars to learn how to play Baccarat, well, then, it’s still a pretty shitty game, isn’t it? Not like poker, poker is kickass. Poker also encourages innuendoes and wearing sunglasses indoors, which Tony also likes. He is also good at sunglasses, scratch that, he is _awesome_ at sunglasses.

And he’s learned something, since he got banned from the entire city of Reno, Nevada (card counting, inciting a riot, public intoxication, and, insultingly, jaywalking) and that is that cheating at cards is not as fun as actually winning. If he cheats he can win every time and that is boring.

Tony does not like boring. He is _allergic_ to boring. Unfortunately, Tony is a genius, so it can be hard to find things that stimulate his entire brain. Even things that are just a _little_ boring make him break out into hives and his whiny voice and dear sweet tapdancing Jesus the other Avengers do not like the whiny voice. And though Tony is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to wearing a suit, playing pranks, inventing things, and eating cookies, he’s not really a match for the other Avengers out of the armor and someday, they really will kill him. Their words! Would they really kill him? He’s not fully sure. They _could_ kill him, probably, if they all tried together. Maybe. Probably. Steve would try to save him. Probably. Hmmm. He makes a mental note: _run some simulations on Avengers V. Tony._ Anyway, focus, Stark. Really, it’s best if Tony does not get bored.

Luckily, poker with the Avengers is _not_ boring, because the other Avengers are _good_.

“I’ll check,” Clint says, after Thor artfully flips the first three community cards.

Usually there’s someone sloppy at the Hold ‘Em table, someone there to play fast and loose, who likes to go all in on a beer hand just to fuck with people. He thought maybe that would be Thor’s game, but Thor has been gambling for thousands of years and probably played a similar betting game when Tony’s Italian ancestors were still speaking Latin. That’s kind of boggling and distracting, so Tony decides not to think about it. Thor has played conservatively so far, but he’ll have to keep an eye on him.

Natasha checks with a single rap of her ivory knuckles. Nat’s a beautiful lady, but playing poker she is almost literally statuesque. Kind of fun, just like being in actual Vegas with those people who pretend to be statues for money. Those people should gamble. They're right there. They'd make a killing. Tony makes another mental note: _Step One:_ _hire statue people to play poker in Vegas._ _Step Two: ??? Step Three: Profit._ _  
_

Bruce checks, and Tony can tell that he’s relieved that it seems like it’ll be free to see the turn. Probably doesn’t have anything, right now. But anything can come through the backdoor; never fold when you can check.

Bruce knows exactly what Tony knows, which is the basic statistical probability of every hand dealt. Natasha probably knows all the stats, too, but her game is psychological. Green Man’s got a veritable mountain of tells, though, so Tony knows he or Natasha or Clint will get him before long.

Clint’s as much of an assassin as Nat is, but can he do the _Sherlock Shakedown_ like she can? Seriously, it’s so much fun while they’re out at restaurants, it’s like being _in_ the frikkin’ BBC show. (Tony _loves_ Sherlock, they would have been such bros, and he likes to think of Cap as his Watson, seriously, there are parallels. Steve doesn’t agree, but he also doesn’t ship Sherlock and Watson, so, can he be trusted on that?) With a glance around the restaurant, Natasha can tell you who’s cheating, whose birthday it is today, whose dog just died, and who’s scared to tell her girlfriend that they’re finally pregnant. That last one was particularly impressive, Tony thought. He has to keep his shit together if he wants to take Widow down.

He takes a sip of scotch, for fortitude.

Tony knocks too, because he’s got bottom pair, 7s, his other card is an ace, and that ain’t bad, but this early on in the game it’s not worth rocking the boat. Especially since the other two cards on the table are K, J. Tony can _totally_ go with the flow when the game calls for it.

Clint probably can’t do all the Sherlock nonsense Nat can, but he does pick out obscene little details. Obscene being the key word, because it’s Clint. If anyone has a tell-- the _smallest little tell_ \-- Clint will probably see it. He also seems to be the type who’s been playing online since that was even an option. He probably has had actual friends (informants? contacts? Do super-spy-sniper-people _have_ friends who aren’t Avengers?) who meet up to play-- after all, the chips are his, they've obviously been used before. He’s not to be underestimated, Tony decides.

“I’ll check, too, then if that’s what we’re doing,” Steve says.

Oh, Steve. That’s an awful lot of words to say out loud in Hold ‘Em if you're not fluent in linguistic subterfuge. Tony loves the everlasting hell out of his _tesoro_ , not a day goes by he doesn’t stare at that beautiful face and wonder what the fuck actually happened and continues to happen, awesomely. Seriously, Steve is the best, but he doesn’t stand much of a chance in this crowd. Not of course, that Captain America can’t be a manipulative punk-- because he really really can-- but because he’s just not as cutthroat as the rest of them. Or that he isn't, sometimes, painfully brilliant, even if he can't build robots. He'll be playing his hand, not the whole board and definitely not the players. Although, he did win at Risk, and sometimes he wins at chess. He’ll make it longer than Banner, Tony decides, but Cap’s not a threat in this game. 

So, in the end, it’s him and Nat for sure and maybe Clint and Thor. That he can deal with.

“I shall also check!” Thor announces, “Then, as dealer, I shall burn a card and reveal the fourth card!” Quick learner, that one.

It’s another 7. That gives him three of a kind, and that _is_ something to be pleased about. He’s got his sunglasses on, he holds his features carefully still. A glance around the table reveals that Bruce still has nothing, Clint is going to check again in about two seconds, but if anyone raises, he’ll fold. Thor and Natasha are unreadable and Steve-- Steve’s got a look on his face like he doesn’t understand playing cards. He peeks at his hand again, _bad form, lovest,_ Tony thinks, then he actually _grins_ , like he’s happy with his hand. That’s fucked up, right there.

“I check,” Clint says. Tony gives himself a point in his internal tally.

Natasha raps her knuckles once on the table.

Bruce looks like they’ve saved his life and knocks, too.

Tony carefully considers his stack. He’s got to raise or the pot will be just blinds and antes. Boring and makes for a slow game. Boring = Bad. Can’t raise too much, though, they can’t know it’s all about that third 7.

“Well, in the name of making this game unboring, I raise 10.” He tosses two red chips out onto the table, and turns to Steve.

Steve considers his pile, it’s nearly identical to everyone else’s, and says “what the heck, Tony, I’ll see it,” and tosses out two red chips.

Thor, with a giant grin, slams his two red chips onto the table, “Yes!” he booms “I would like to see if this fifth street may bring me to victory!”

Clint shakes his head fondly and tosses his cards down on the table, “too rich for my blood, amigos. I fold.”

Natasha moves her cards away from her and says in a modulated voice JARVIS should be jealous of, “I fold.”

Bruce nearly tosses his cards away from him, “fold!”

“Then we are agreed!” Thor says, as he burns another card and flips the next one. It’s a 6, nothing that helps Tony, but nothing too scary, like another face card. He’s still got three of a kind with an ace kicker.

“Fifty,” he says, and tosses out a single blue chip.

“I see your fifty,” Steve says, in a voice Tony quickly files under _Voices Steve Should Not Use In Public Because That Is Entirely Unfair and God DAMN That Man._ He places a blue chip of his own, but then reaches back to his pile and removes two black chips and adds, in the same ridiculously sexy voice, “and I raise you 200.”

“Ha-HA!” Thor says, shocking Tony out of the bedroom of his mind, “You are brave, friend Steve! I fear your hand is superior to mine and therefore I shall fold my cards.”

Tony makes a valiant attempt to slow his heart, that is a _serious_ move. Two hundred is serious. He’d have to have Ladies or Cowboys in his hand to beat him, though. Odds of that are low, but odds of Cap betting on anything less than the winning hand are low, too. Right?

Tony starts reverse-engineering the bet-- Steve knows, knows him inside out. Knows he doesn’t like to pass up a challenge like this. He probably thinks he’ll call no matter what, just to make Steve show his cards. He _does_ have a decent hand, Trip 7s with an ace kicker is fine. Not if Steve has trip kings or queens, though.

“You gonna play the game, Stark?” Clint prompts. He’s dealer next, he likes being dealer.

Cap wouldn’t bet that high on anything he didn’t know was going to win. Tony decides, and shoves his trip 7s with an ace kicker away from him.

“I fold then,” he relents, and gestures to the small pile of chips in the middle of the table, “take it down, Captain America!”

Steve grins at him, then, he does something _bizarre_.

He flips over his cards.

He doesn’t have to, he shouldn’t, it’s a crazy stupidass ridiculous thing to do at the poker table. Even _Tony_ doesn’t flip his cards to gloat until he’s seriously, seriously drunk. It’s just not done. It’s bad form! _Leave Them Guessing_ should be the friggin subtitle of this game. Tony sees even Natasha’s eyebrows jut upward. It’s a _bizarre_ thing to do and it’s completely disorienting that it’s _Cap_ who’s done it. There are prescription drug combos that haven’t made him this dizzy.

But even so, Steve’s upturned hand glares at him from the table.

7/2 off suit. The beer hand. Damn it.

Clint, Thor and Bruce are laughing hysterically. Even Nat has broken her statue-face and has her eyes crinkled and her lips turned up in an amused, if baffled, grin.

Tony can only stare at those two innocent-looking cards.

Steve plants a kiss on his left cheek, “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, all wholesome Captain America again, and rakes in his takedown.

Clint gathers the cards and starts shuffling ostentatiously.

“Ante up, my friends,” he crows, “Nat, you’re small blind, Banner, big blind. Blinds go up in twenty minutes, let’s do this.”

Tony grins. Oh, this is not going to be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the crazy amount of poker jargon. I think jargon is super fun and so does Tony, I assume :D
> 
> Yes, Tony would have won, his ace kicker would have made it for him. Steve had literally THE WORST poker hand you can have. It's known as the Beer Hand, because, well, you may as well fold and go get a beer. Cap is wily.
> 
> Seating is Thor, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, Steve, Thor (Thor isn't there twice, but he is next to Clint *and* Steve)
> 
> Chips are in-- I don't know, points, units, denarii, a denomination of your own choosing. Most people use dollars and cents but that's not what's up here, sorry :)
> 
> White Chips - 1  
> Red Chips - 5  
> Green Chips - 25  
> Blue Chips - 50  
> Black Chips - 100
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Who do you want to hear from next? Leave me a note or a thought! I love writing back and I love requests!


	3. Putting You All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Avengers are knocked out of the poker round.

Clint holds his features still and prepares for Bruce to do something really effing stupid. It's somewhat of a relief, since it's usually him doing the stupid things. But it's definitely Bruce this time. Clint knows he's going to do it because he touches his hair, (Bruce touches his hair with his left hand when he’s about to make a decision) looks at his chip pile with numbers in his eyes, (doing a force-of-habit double-check on his math) and sets his shoulders. Hulk's going all in.

"I'm all in," Banner says, moving his little stack of green, red and white chips into the center.

Clint eyes Natasha from the very corner of his eye. He slides a foot toward her. She, without seeming to move a single muscle, lines her left foot up with his right. Then she slides her foot away, as though it never happened. _Knew it_ , this means. Actually, what it means is _agreement._  They do it simultaneously, seamlessly, soundlessly. It’s just one of about a hundred secret signals that keep the two of them in constant, silent conversation.

It was actually a bit of a gamble for them to do that, Clint thinks. It’s possible Stark spotted it or Cap heard it. If they weren’t playing the most secretive game ever, they probably would have high-fived and cashed in on the bets they tricked some poor schmucks into making. Well, Clint would have high fived himself, or probably Bruce, who would have given him the high five even though the prediction was at his expense, and Natasha would have collected the money. Whatever, the _agreement_ signal works just as well. It’s almost more fun, too. Sneaky. They’re good at sneaky.

Hey, they’re the only ones who aren’t either terrifying super-geniuses, Gods, or hyped up on fuck-knows-what; they have to cut corners where they can. If there’s something they can do, it’s cut friggin corners. They're currently cutting their most-frequently cut corner, which is secretly teaming up under the table. They both would have loved to save Bruce, too, they love him, but sometimes losses must be cut. Plus, Bruce probably thinks this is just a game.

He’s so sweet, with his soft brown curls and soft brown eyes. So sweet, and so naive.

Tony, (who Clint wishes was just a little bit drunker than he is-- he’d counted on having Tony a little wasted for this-- but damn him if he hasn’t even finished one sparkly-ass highball glass of scotch) eyes Bruce’s meager little stack of chips, arrives at a number, smirks, and tosses out just one of his black chips.

“Call,” he says, managing an unholy amount of self-satisfaction in the single syllable. Friggin’ Stark. Natasha taps her foot three times. _Friggin’ Stark_ , it means.

Yes, they have a secret signal to display their distaste for the shit Tony does. Clint loves Tony. It’s a blast to have a bro. He’s usually up for sparring, drinking, pizza; he makes him sweet new arrows and a new wrist guard that’s simply kickass. They’ve used that particular signal less and less, but it’s still useful for meetings. And poker, apparently.

Steve, who plays this game like he’s _drunk out of his brain,_ tosses one of his black chips in as well.

Steve has, so far, gone all in four times (no one has called his bluff yet, which is sad), shown them his hand seven times, and unabashedly asked them all what they have in their hands. Clint and Natasha are in agreement in their utter confusion (the _what the fuck signal_ is done under the table four times before Natasha gives the _stop_ , and they just have to hold their confusion in) as it’s like Steve has decided that he does want to win but he has no interest in playing by any of the unwritten rules of poker.

Also known as _the only fucking important rules of poker, you star spangled weirdo._

Thor’s pile of chips has dwindled; he’s played very conservatively. This game doesn’t reward that, which is one of the reasons Clint likes it so much. You have to make a move. You can’t just sit on your hoard and wait-- the blinds and antes’ll get you long before then. Unfortunately, this seems to be what is happening to Thor, as he folds his cards with a sad but somehow regal sounding, “Hummph.”

Clint agrees with that sentiment. He hates when the betting is this high before the flop. He’s a spy, for fuck’s sake, a sniper, to be even more precise. Betting a hundred chips with only 28.57% of the information? When you could just wait, wait _one freeking moment,_ and have 71.43% of the information? Not even close. He doesn’t have a bad hand, though. J/Q off suit, if he can pair high, or catch a straight, he should be better off than most of them. The pot’s already sweet.

He checks in with Natasha-- _you?_ Is the signal.

 _Yes,_ is what he gets back, which means she’s going to go for it.

“Call,” he says stonily, and tosses two blue chips in. He hasn’t gotten great cards. He’s done his best with what he’s had, but some nights are better than others. It _is_ gambling, after all.

Natasha dealt this hand, and after a cursory sweep over the table to make sure everybody who’s in is in and everybody who’s out is out, tosses in her last black chip, burns a card and shows the flop.

The flop comes Ace, ten, ten.

Clint looks at Bruce, who is all in, after all. He’s such an easy read. He’s actually looking a little bit hopeful.

“Side pot,” Natasha advises, and moves all the chips collected thusfar off to the side. If Bruce wins, he’ll only have rights to collect from there. If Bruce takes this one, he’ll be back in the game in style. Bruce holds up his hands, as though everyone was worried he would try to take from their pile. He’s so adorable. He makes the _general affection for others_ , a new and suddenly popular signal for them, to Natasha, whose lips and ears go just a shade pinker. He resists the urge to smile. He friggin loves both of them.

He almost forgets to watch Tony _very closely_ because he’s a _very dangerous man_ , but it turns out he doesn’t have to, when Tony checks. Dude’s got nothing. That’s nice to know.

Steve knocks, but he’s doing another crazy thing. He’s holding his two cards up at eye level, as though they were playing Gin Rummy or Crazy Eights. Maybe Steve _is_ playing Crazy Eights and forgot to tell the rest of them.

Clint does his best to ignore his nonsense and knocks too. He’s got an inside straight draw, but that’s nothing to bet on. If the mad scientist and Captain Crazypants over there want to check, Clint is cool with that.

Natasha, it seems, is not content to float on, she tosses out two green chips, “Fifty to see it.”

Tony folds easily, and takes a leisurely half-sip of his scotch. Clint wants to goad him into drinking more, but that’d be revealing weakness.

Steve, who, again, has gone insane, throws in a blue chip. “I’m in, Romanoff.”

Clint doesn’t have very many chips left. If he stays in he’ll probably be all in by the end of it. But, you can’t ride Texas Hold ‘Em. He’s already 100 chips in. He wishes he they had a spy signal for _hey, how good are your cards exactly and what’s your read on Rogers?_ But alas, they forgot to agree on that one.

A straight will beat two pair or three of a kind, which is probably the best thing Bruce has, or he would definitely look happier in this moment instead of cautiously hopeful. It’s _impossible_ to tell what Rogers has, because he’s thrown away a big slick, gone all in on _absolutely nothing_ and everything in between.

Whatever it is, it won’t beat what he’s guessing Natasha has, based on her aggressive betting, which is either four of a kind or a full house. But, if someone has to take down the rest of his chips, it’s got to be her.

He tosses out two green chips. He’s in.

Natasha gives him a long look. Her gorgeous green eyes flash, and he imagines, as he does, that the flashing is her reading his mind. Sometimes it seems like she does. _Thanks_ , she signals. She knows what he’s about to do, then.

She burns a card and reveals a 9.

Steve makes a predatory noise, which startles the hell out of all of them. Even Tony has gone still as a pillar and red all the way down his v-neck T-shirt. Natasha raps out the _what the fuck_ , signal again, even though she was the one who called a stop to it.

If Clint ever wondered what it was like to be Tony Stark (and he’ll admit, he’s wondered for a number of reasons, including having infinite money and a crazy flying suit) he now has a _terrifyingly_ good idea, because Steve _bares his teeth at him._

Holy God Damn Shit. It’s really difficult to know if he’s more scared or turned on. He realizes he’s made the _help_ signal about nine times, and he's staring into Steve’s ice blue eyes.

Then, everything gets nine times worse, when Steve _leers_ at him and  _growls,_ “I’m putting you all in, Barton.”

The next two seconds are complicated. Over the horrifying confusion of being threatened/propositioned by the probably(?) monogamous Captain America, Clint registers Tony and Thor laughing their asses off. Thanks guys.

Then, Natasha runs her toes over his calf, gently, sweetly, it’s not a formal signal they’ve agreed on. But it tells him just the same: _I got this, go ahead._

Clint, who can flirt with the best of them, fuck you very much, lowers his eyelids, bats them once, twice, tilts his chin down, and averts his gaze up. He flicks warm gazes to Nat and Bruce real quick, before he locks eyes with Steve.

“You want me all in, Rogers? Well, you got it.” He slides his chips in smoothly, never breaking eye contact. He wants several points for that, because it’s difficult with Steve being A) So stupidly handsome, and B) bracketed on either side by Tony and Thor, who will probably have to be sedated to stop their laughter.

“God DAMN it you two, will you stop eye-fucking, please,” Tony gasps out, “before one of you gets jumped and we ruin a perfectly good cutthroat poker game?!”

“It wouldn’t ruin it...” Bruce mumbles, but before anything else can happen, Natasha has counted out her chips and slides them into the middle.

She uses a voice that can only be called her Dominatrix Voice to say, “I call.”

Clint is such a strong, strong, man, he thinks to himself, he doesn’t even cheer when Steve’s sexy little smirk falls off his face completely. He knows Natasha’s going to take this down.

She gives him a harsh little smile, and flips over the last card. It’s a two. Now the community cards read Ace, Ten, Ten, Nine, Two. Well, there goes Clint's inside straight draw. Or his _anything._

Banner basically jumps in his seat; clearly this is a good card for him.

Steve has more chips, he could make Natasha go all in, but he doesn’t seem to want to play that wild-and-crazy. He raps his enormous hand on the table. It’s such bad poker form to check after you’ve raised. So, hey, maybe he is still playing by the Crazy Steve rules of Poker.

Clint, himself, is all in, so he can do nothing, Natasha merely raps her hand once on the table.

“Show ‘em, boys,” she orders, “Bruce?”

He flips his cards over to reveal a pair of threes. Two pair with an ace.

“Sorry Banner,” Steve says, all normal again, like he wasn’t just literally growling two minutes ago, “Full House.” He’s got a nine and a ten in his hand.

Damn. Why didn’t he take Nat all in in the last round? Natasha can’t beat that with what’s on the table unless she's holding tens or aces.

He feels a little down that his money might go to this Scary Alternate Universe Steve. “I’m out, team,” he folds his hand firmly. He’s not going to give them the satisfaction of showing them his high card hand.

He’s just starting to try to cheer himself up thinking of playing dealer and being a better spy for Nat when she flips up her own cards. His breath catches in his throat.

She’s got Pocket Rockets, two aces. She had a full boat the whole time. And her full boat outranks Steve’s. The table bursts into laughter and cheers. Bruce and Clint high five over Natasha’s head.

She’s beaten him, but just by the tiniest bit.

“Well done, Lady Natasha! An excellent hand!” Thor booms, and offers her his giant fist to bump.

Nat, graceful in all things, says, “Thank you, gentlemen,” in a low purr as she does the world’s most elegant fist bump, rakes in several hundred chips, and becomes the big stack at the table.

Tony is still laughing like crazy again and says to Steve, “Aw, _Tesoro,_ see what you get for flirting with Barton?”

“What,” Steve says, with a strange little smirk on his mouth, “screwed by Romanoff?”

“Don’t know why you’re surprised,” Bruce says, in the mildest way possible, as he stands and brushes his warm, gentle hand over Clint and Natasha’s shoulders on his way to the kitchen, “it happens to me all the time.”

The table erupts into laughter again, and this time Natasha joins. Her laughter is like a music box, and it makes everything better, all the time.

“I left that wide open, didn’t I?” Steve asks Tony, with an open smile-- a glimmer of the honest, normal person they all hope Steve Rogers still is somewhere in there peeking through.

“Yes, dear, yes you did.” Tony confirms, and knocks back the rest of his scotch. Sure, _now_ he’ll start getting drunk.

“Alright, enough with that, I’ll be the dealer,” Clint declares, “Four of you left so blinds and antes go up. That means you, Thor,” he says with an authoritative finger-point, “Big blind, dude. Ante up.”

Bruce sets a Mountain Dew in front of him, and gives him a wink before he settles back into his chair to watch.

 _Thanks,_ Natasha signals, then _love you_ , and smiles at him, before turning back into a statue.

Even when he loses, Clint friggin loves poker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is out of control, Clint is now the dealer, Natasha's the big stack, Tony's still got plenty of money over there, Thor's being whittled down, Bruce is-- making tea? Hopefully? :D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Three Hundred and Your Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint hatch a sneaky plan to distract Tony, but it backfires, kind of.

Being dealt a pair of queens when she’s not one of the blinds would seem like a good omen.

If you were superstitious. Which Natasha decidedly is _not_. She’s the sort of woman who makes her own luck, thank you. She tosses out a green chip and a red chip to pay her ante. She definitely wants in on this round.

If you had asked her three years ago, Natasha would have probably stonily told you that she would work fine on a team-- as long as everyone stuck to mission parameters, got the job done, and left her the hell alone. But of course, it turns out there is a big difference between being fully capable of _executing part of a plan that involves other agents_ to being a _member of an actual team_. It’s probably more of a family than a team, when she’s honest with herself. She’s never gotten a little tipsy and watched “27 Dresses” with a SHIELD squad, or the KGB, that’s for damn sure.

She doesn’t like to think about her childhood; about that red room in the middle of Russia. But even she has to find it just a little funny that the skills that were meant to make her a weapon for the KGB, instead, are going to help her wipe the floor with her teammates at poker.

If that’s not using her powers for good, she’s not sure what is.

She wonders if Clint chose poker for her specifically. After all, there’s almost no other game in the world that showcases her exact set of skills so beautifully. Situational awareness, facial mapping, lying, manipulation, and, of course, playing cards. It’s something exquisite to have a partner who knows you so well; who’s willing to go all in with nothing, trusting that you’ll be the one to get his chips. It was a love note-- one that she appreciated deeply.

It’s almost as marvelous to be an Avenger; to be a part of something that runs so easily, has six or more moving parts and rarely breaks down. It means she knows every one of those parts very well.

For example, she notices that when things get particularly bad in a firefight, Thor’s eyes twitch to the sky. He’s not thinking of leaving; he’s wishing for the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif-- and most importantly, his brother. They won’t-- can’t-- come from Asgard. Thor isn’t lonely in the tower, he’s happy with them, but he’s lonely in battle, sometimes.

It’s that sort of information-- the kind that seems arbitrary, ancillary, unimportant, even sentimental-- that often comes in the most handy.

Proof positive: a round ago, when Thor made an aggressive raise and looked to the ceiling, Natasha called him and halved his already tiny stack of chips. _Even Odin couldn't save you now, my friend._ She thinks a little darkly.

 _Friggin Tony,_ Clint signals, as Stark tosses in his ante as well. Clint’s signal means Tony’s given some indication that he’s got a good hand. Hard to be better than ladies, though.

Tony’s not an easy read, of course, he’s grown up with bright lights shining in his face. She’s seen him go from an intoxicated, babbling wreck who’s covered in grease to a clear-eyed, silver-tongued man in a bespoke suit in less than twenty minutes. It doesn’t work in her favor that he’s a numbers genius and a man who loves gambling. He’s also the big stack at the table again, having taken down a pot with a good portion of her and Steve’s chips. She’s not worried, though. With Clint’s eye on him as well, he will be taken down.

Steve though.

Really, Steve?

He responds to her psychic critique by calling and giving the table at large a lewd, out-of-character smirk.

He thinks acting as though he’s become hebephrenic is going to throw the _Black Widow_ off of her poker game?

Adorable.

His behavior startles her, to be sure. Even more so when he snarls like a wolf and looks at her partner like he’s a particularly juicy cut of Kobe. She’s filed her reaction to that particular incident under Fascinating, hm.

A thought strikes her: Tony’s been thrown off a few times by Steve’s behavior... if she can finagle worse behavior out of him-- it might _might_ be enough to give her a better edge against Tony. Thor’s so short stacked at this point he’s almost an afterthought. Steve's a loose cannon and he'll shoot himself down soon enough. It’s Tony “Queen of Rogersland,” Stark she needs to unseat.

The thought becomes an idea. She'll need Clint's help; will need to communicate a complex plan with their sparse signal vocabulary, all while keeping her face perfectly still. Even if he gets the message, Clint will have to be the one to actually enact the plan.

She carefully chooses a few signals.

The flop comes 7, 6, Q. Gorgeous, for this round anyway.

She scoots imperceptibly closer to him and signals:

_Plan, Cap, acquire, naked, distract, friggin Tony, help_

She has to hope he doesn't misread that in one of the ten thousand ways it can be misinterpreted.

Her faith is rewarded when he taps out:

_Risky, like, affirmative, love you._

The next second, he says, "it's really too bad we didn't start out this game on strip poker rules, huh?"

He understood perfectly. She bites back a fond smile.

"I am not familiar with this strip poker," Thor booms. Clearly he has not been impressed by Texas hold 'em. Natasha’s never been impressed with Texas either. "Is this a different game or one of the same making?"

"Oh, Thor, buddy," Tony says with delight, "it is a great, but wholly separate game."

"And a silly game to play with five people who see you naked all the time," Bruce adds. He is so very logical. Thor, for whatever reason, hates towels and hair dryers. Unsurprisingly, no one has complained when he wanders around the house naked for an hour after every shower he takes. Hm.

"Just sayin'," Clint says with one of his best impish grins, "being the spectator would be a lot more interesting."

"You aren't spectating," Natasha points out, because she can't be seen as the mastermind of this plan, "you chose to be the dealer."

Then, her plan comes to fruition beautifully when Steve dangles a sock over the table and drops it right next to the flopped cards. "I think you're all giving up too easy on this strip poker thing," he says with a painfully earnest smile. "You can do anything if you put your mind to it."

Natasha takes a moment to enjoy the expressions of her beloved teammates. Tony's gone red for the seventh time this game. Bruce seems to be mildly amused but keeping his composure, as usual.

Thor looks puzzled, as he does, then removes his own socks and tosses them into the corner with a triumphant "ha!"

"Thank you, Captain America!" Clint says sincerely, reaching out and flicking the sock off of the table and into the pile with Thor’s socks with his usual flawless accuracy. Sock flicking is suddenly sexy. Hm. "Now, unless you want to remove more clothing,” he says with a raised eyebrow, “it's your go."

Steve shrugs with one shoulder, knocks on the table, and removes his other sock. He tosses it into the corner with similar accuracy. Not quite as sexy when Steve does it.

Thor looks at his cards and looks at his stack.

“I shall raise these, my final chips, as well as my shirt.” Thor’s voice is slightly muffled as he speaks while removing said shirt, baring his massive, brawny chest. The shirt flies into the apparently designated clothing pile in the corner.

“Is this _really_ a thing we’re doing right now? Guys?” Tony interrupts. It’s faintly disconcerting how serious he’s been about the poker game this evening. He’s shut down several of Steve’s flirtation attempts, has only finished a glass and half of scotch in three hours and he’s kept his mouth fairly firmly shut.

 _More,_ she signals to Clint, _me?_

Clint apparently can’t hide his smirk for this one, _affirmative,_ he signs back.

Tony thinks he can keep his shit together? He can try this one out.

“Well,” she purrs, “I call,” she counts out the required number of chips and slides them in. Then, she strips off her tanktop, pulls it by the straps, and launches it into the heap. Her teammates, to their great credit, and safety, do not stare.

Clint opens his mouth to challenge Tony, as it’s his go.

“So, wait,” Bruce starts, looking up from his tablet where he’d been working while the action was slow. “Whoever wins this hand gets the clothes, or...? I just don’t think I’m getting the rules, here--”

“Oh, it’s not about the clothes, Brucey,” Tony says, “this is all about the cards,” without seeming to look at his stack, (the man has math _in_ his fingers) he plucks out his chips, then he, too, removes his shirt.

There’s a moment, less than a second, of nasty, cold silence. Stark’s chest; a mass of scars and metal, comes into view out from under his black AC/DC T-shirt. It’s not something any of them have seen, besides Steve. There’s a faint ache in her own chest, he shouldn’t feel like he has to do that. She knows exactly the price you pay when you’re coerced into showing your scars.

He simply locks eyes with her, his mouth in a gleefully twisted grin, his face and chips and cards lit eerily blue from the ARC reactor. He holds the shirt out to Steve, dangling it on one elegant finger, not sparing him a glance.

“ _Chouchou,_ ” he says sweetly, “would you do the honors for me?” Steve gleefully throws the shirt, the pile inching further up the wall. “I call,” Stark says, his wide brown eyes never leaving hers.

She gives him a little smirk and a raised eyebrow back and laces her fingers together over her cards.

Oh, it is _on_ , Stark.

Steve, who has to be contrary, folds his cards, and keeps his shirt on.

 _Cap, Annoying._ Clint signals her. She lines her left foot up with his right to signal back _agree._

“Well, that’s everyone, then, Thor’s all in with 225 chips and his T shirt, Nat and Tony have called and here is the turn,” Clint burns a card and flips up another 7. That gives Natasha a full boat. Unless Tony or Thor have hockey sticks over there, or another seven doesn’t come down the river, she’s golden.

The only question is how much she can get out of Tony in two rounds of betting.

“Down to you and Widow, here, Tony, what do you have to say?” Clint prompts.

Tony’s face has gone plastic; he’s doing his press conference smile, “well, Romanoff, if you have three hundred chips for me, I’ll let you see the river.”

She watches the lean muscles in his arm move as he drops the three black chips, _plink, plink, plink,_ onto the table.

She’s about to start a little charade where she pretends to think about this when--

“And your pants,” Steve says amiably.

“And your _pants?!”_ Tony repeats, looking at him like he’s insane. Steve gives him a cheerful little smile, and she assumes they share a moment. Tony shakes his head like he’s taken a hard hit, but shrugs and unbuckles his belt, “fair enough then, _tesoro._ Nat, that’s three hundred chips and your pants.” He removes his jeans and meanders easily over to the pile, and drops them on the top.

“Six hundred,” she replies, standing, smoothly sliding her yoga pants down and off, “then we’ll see what comes through the backdoor, hmm, _Antoshka?”_

And there’s a funny moment when she and Tony are glaring at each other, she in her sturdy black underthings and he in bright red boxer-briefs. She holds out her pants to him. To his credit, he simply takes the pants, folds them with ostentatious care, and saunters back to his seat.

“Ha Ha!” Thor laughs, “I regret I am no longer able to bet on this hand, for I also loathe wearing these trousers!”

“Keep it together, Thor, if you win this one you can have your choice of trousers,” Clint advises.

“I call,” Tony says, tossing out the three more black chips, and gesturing impatiently to Clint. “Put me on the riverboat, Barton, let’s see it.”

Natasha sinks gracefully back into her chair.

Clint burns a card, then reveals a Queen.

A _queen._ Specifically, the  _last_  queen.

She’s got four of a kind. That means he can’t beat her. She’s got the nut.

Tony’s still got a formidable stack of black chips. The only question is whether that card worked for him.

“Six hundred again,” he says, taking half of his remaining stack.

“Six hundred it is,” she agrees, and sets out her chips.

“What about--” Steve starts in.

Tony holds up a hand, “let this one play out, Cap, only got so many clothes left, we can’t spoil Nat for Playboy, can we?”

“Thor first, he’s all in,” Bruce says. Natasha notices that she’s between Clint and Bruce while they’re fully clothed and she’s not. Fascinating. Hm.

“I have the Ruler of the Kingdom of Spades," Thor announces, "as well as a six. I have paired the six on the board!”

He looks pleased by this, but he might as well have said nothing at all. He’s done for.

“Show ‘em, Stark, we’ll see who’s posing for Playboy when this is all over,” she says, holding her cards up between her fingers, ready to lay them down.

He cockily tilts his head to the side, then flicks his cards over. 7, 6. It’s an unusual hand to bet on, but he’d had two pairs after the flop and now he’s got sevens over queens, which is not a bad full boat.

It’s not as good, though, as four of a kind.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Stark,” she says, as she flips up her cards one-- and then the other-- watching his face drop, “never bet against ladies.”

“And Agent Romanoff takes the table! Thor, you are outta there!”

“A well-played hand, that is certain! Friend Tony, your hand was formidable!”

Natasha goes to the clothing pile and puts on Thor’s massive T-shirt. _New dress,_ she decides. Then, she takes Tony’s T-shirt and her own yoga pants, and gives them to Tony. Just to rub it in a bit.

Tony, who is never to be underestimated, tosses on his shirt, and shimmies into her yoga pants.

“What do you think, team? Should I take up yoga?” he takes a moment to strut around the table, striking inaccurate yoga poses and making kissy faces. She laughs with them, and he actually looks pretty damn good. Hm.

Steve blushes like he’s seventeen, but Thor interrupts, standing and knocking over his chair. He may never learn how _not_ to do that, she thinks. “Now! I am free from this game of chance! Bruce, Clinton! My companions! Let us enjoy some fortifying alcohol while we spectate the remainder of this game!”

 _Me?_ Clint signals her. It’s amazing how much they can communicate with the slide of a foot, the touch of a toe. He wants to know if she wants him to stay sober, to keep an eye out.

 _Negative, you, acquire,_ she signals back.

“I’m in, Thor, bring us some ale, then, or whatever!” Clint yells into the kitchen, while he gathers up the cards and shuffles them again. “I feel like I’m going to need it. Blinds and antes, people, lemme see the money, it’s almost midnight and some of us want to watch Saturday morning cartoons tomorrow.”

“You just want to watch that ridiculous show where I don’t exist and you have biceps the same size as Thor,” Bruce teases.

“Hey!” Clint says, holding his hand to his chest, mock-wounded, “Avengers Assemble is an excellent show, they got my glasses right, and they even ship Cap and Tony. It’s adorable.”

“That show is... very strange,” Steve says, becoming the dictionary definition of the pot calling the kettle black. The show _is_ strange, though.

“There is a lot of manful touching,” Tony agrees, “less manful touching than around here, but considering they never asked us, for information or permission or _anything,_ I guess it turned out okay.”

“ _You_ only like it because they made Iron Man the team leader for whatever drunken reason,” Clint says as he deals out two cards each for Steve, Natasha, and Tony.

Natasha puts forward the big blind, and peeks her cards. They’re crap, but she’s paid the big blind, if no one raises she can see the flop.

“Play the game, my friends,” Steve says, as he whips off his shirt, and shoves his pile of chips into the middle, “I’m going all in.”

She folds her cards, and settles back into her chair to watch Steve and Tony go head-to-head.

This game is _never_ boring. Maybe she’ll make them play it again when she’s team leader for the week. Hm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was ridiculously hard to write, not that Natasha isn't hilarious, she's just dry, pithy hilarious, not crack-y hilarious. 
> 
> PLEASE watch Avengers Assemble, it's on Netflix right now, I swear, just watch the first two episodes, it's... they ship Cap and Tony, they do. They must.
> 
> This is the longest damn chapter I've ever written. Thanks again so much for reading!
> 
> I don't have a beta so if you notice something off, please feel free to let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! Please review and check out my other stuff, if you like it!


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